


How To Win A Hobbit's Affection

by Tehri



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo still doesn't realise, Confusion arises, Courtship, Dwarf Courting, Hobbit Courting, M/M, Thorin is about as subtle as a pink elephant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a few key differences in how hobbits and dwarves court. These differences can lead to a good deal of confusion, and while Thorin is certainly not the image of a subtle dwarf, Bilbo is still utterly confused about what is going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prove your strength

The more time Bilbo spent around dwarves, the more he realised just how different they were from hobbits. It was a confusing experience, to say the least, to be uprooted from one’s home and dragged across Middle Earth on an adventure along with thirteen dwarves; at some point, he had started to make a list over things where his companions differed from his own kind. The list included such things as how they spoke, how they moved, how they responded to certain sentences, what sort of jokes they told… Well, suffice to say that it was a very long list, and though Bilbo kept adding to it, he had probably forgotten most of the previous notes.

One thing that he never forgot, however, was the focus the dwarves put on strength.

They were never without their weapons, and if they were bored, they would spar with each other. If they didn’t want to spar, they would wrestle. And sometimes the wrestling would turn into an all-out brawl of the sort that Bilbo had only seen once before, when his cousin Adalgrim had started a fight at the inn in Tuckborough.

And there was the head-butting. Oh, the _head-butting_.

The first time one of the dwarves had tried to give Bilbo a friendly head-butt as a greeting, the poor hobbit had landed unconscious on the ground. Poor Dori had fretted terribly and carried his little companion to Oin and convinced the old dwarf to check so that he wasn’t dead. Bilbo had indeed woken up a while later, with a goose-egg and a massive headache, and nervously asked Dori why on earth he had head-butted him.

“It’s a greeting,” Dori answered. “We do that sometimes. Do you mean to say that hobbits don’t?”

“We don’t have as thick skulls, I believe,” Bilbo groaned in reply. “Please, Dori, don’t do that again. It really hurt.”

After that incident, the dwarves of the Company stuck to the gentler act of touching their foreheads to Bilbo’s as a more affectionate greeting. Or simple back-slaps that had the poor hobbit nearly falling over if he wasn’t prepared for them.

Though a head-butt was more than just a greeting. By the time the quest for Erebor had ended and Thorin was crowned king, Bilbo had seen it used as a rather brutal tactic in battle as well, and soon thereafter he noticed that dwarves actually used it as a way of competing with each other.

 

Seeing Thorin and his cousin Dáin knock their heads together during training like aggressive mountain-rams made Bilbo a bit nervous. Not to mention increasingly worried that they’d crack their skulls open.

“Don’t you worry, Bilbo,” Balin told him once he brought up the matter. “They’re just having a bit of fun. It’s simply a show of strength, and Thorin and Dáin have not seen each other for some time now.”

“A bit of fun?” Bilbo repeated weakly. “Balin, Thorin broke Dáin’s nose!”

“A completely valid target in such a contest,” Balin answered, his tone amused. “And I suspect that Dáin gave as good as he got.”

Though it wasn’t long after that conversation that Bilbo noticed how Thorin seemed to be getting into these contests more often when the hobbit was nearby. The dwarf would look oddly gleeful whenever he won (which was often), and spent a good long while behaving like a dog that found a particularly large stick if Bilbo had stayed to see the end of the fight. The poor hobbit felt it was a little bit disturbing.

Or well. More than a little bit.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Bilbo said one day when he visited Balin and Dwalin in their home. “It feels like Thorin has gone completely off his rocker. He gets into these ridiculous head-butting contests all the time, and struts like a rooster in a henhouse whenever I’m there to see him win.”

The sons of Fundin exchanged amused glances. Subtlety had never been Thorin’s strong suit, and seeing that the hobbit had no idea what was happening made the entire situation ridiculous.

“I thought it was affectionate,” Bilbo continued despairingly. “Dori said that you dwarves greet each other that way sometimes!”

“Of course,” Balin said calmly. “But it’s a rather important offensive skill as well, Bilbo. Surely you’ve noticed that. We have thick skulls, and we may as well use them.”

“Thick skulls indeed,” the hobbit grumbled. “But Balin, why this? Using it in battle is one thing, but why these ridiculous contests?”

“It’s a show of strength,” Dwalin stated. “Much like how some Men will arm-wrestle.”

“Oh, so Men arm-wrestle while Dwarves simply crack each other’s skulls open?” Bilbo asked sarcastically. “Thank you ever so much for explaining that to me, Dwalin.”

“You know,” Dwalin said slowly, grinning slyly at the hobbit. “Thorin once head-butted me so hard that I passed out. First time anyone had managed that. I stumbled backwards and fell and broke a table.”

“That’s barbaric.” Bilbo wrinkled his nose in distaste and shook his head. “Why on earth would he have done that? You could have gotten hurt!”

“It was all in good fun,” Dwalin answered. “No need to worry.”

“No need to worry?” Bilbo cried shrilly. “He could have cracked your skull open, and you say _no need to worry_?”

“He was never in any danger,” Balin chuckled. “Really, Bilbo, as Dwalin said it’s a show of strength. If Thorin’s getting into these contests more often if you’re around, I suppose he’s trying to tell you something.”

“Tell me something?”

“Well, he’s trying to show you how strong he is. Though that could easily have been accomplished without the contests, I suppose.” Balin couldn’t help but laugh at the look on Bilbo’s face. “And I do believe that Dwalin meant for you to be impressed with Thorin’s strength by telling that little story.”

“Well, I’m not,” Bilbo huffed. “It’s barbaric!”

Balin and Dwalin only laughed.

 

It didn’t help that Thorin would press his forehead against Bilbo’s whenever they met, no matter where they were. Bilbo had long since accepted that this was his friends’ way of giving him an affectionate greeting without hurting him, but the way Thorin would linger for a moment and gently place his hand on the nape of the hobbit’s neck didn’t quite feel like a simple greeting. The fact that none of the others did the same reinforced that belief.

It was also becoming increasingly difficult to avoid incidents where Thorin would get into contests. It seemed that any moment was fair game, and the rest of the Company were surprisingly inclined to indulge their king in what was, according to Bilbo, a frankly childish way to prove that he was stronger. Even Fili and Kili, who would normally try to avoid their uncle when he was in strange moods, had started to participate in the contests; though most of the time they came away from them with large bruises and headaches.

“It’s just head-butting,” Fili had said when Bilbo scolded him for initiating a contest at one point. “The whole _point_ is to use as much strength as possible!”

“Uncle knows what he’s doing,” Kili supplied cheerfully. “Don’t worry so much. He’d never intentionally hurt us, not really.”

That was certainly not a comfort. Whatever Thorin was up to, he was not going easy on anyone. That he knew what he was doing did not make Bilbo feel the slightest bit better about the situation.

“I’m going to talk to him,” Bilbo huffed. “This has to stop, before you two develop some sort of damage…”

Thorin seemed surprisingly crushed when the hobbit asked him to stop.

“It is merely a contest,” he protested. “A show of-“

“I don’t care what sort of a contest it is, Thorin,” Bilbo told him sharply. “You need to stop, before you hurt someone. At this rate you’ll start a contest with Bard or Thranduil, and then we’re likely to have another war on our hands.”

Despite a certain amount of sulking, Thorin did stop. The rest of the Company seemed rather concerned when they noticed that the contests had stopped, and that their hobbit was pleased with it.

“There’s certainly no need for him to behave like a brute,” Bilbo said when asked. “I already know that he’s strong, I travelled with him all the way from the Shire, if you remember.”


	2. Protect them

One morning as Bilbo was about to leave his chambers and go to the library to help Balin and Ori, he found a linen-wrapped package by his door. A little confused, he picked it up and brought it with him, deciding that he couldn’t just leave it and that he certainly didn’t have the time to stop to open it just yet.

He made it nearly to luncheon before Ori asked him about the package.

“I found it outside my door,” Bilbo explained.

“Well, open it,” Ori said eagerly. “It could be something nice!”

“Last time a gift was delivered to my door,” Bilbo said slowly, “was back in the Shire, and it was sent by my cousin Otho’s wife Lobelia. It was a kind of seed for a vine that would’ve strangled most of the plants in my garden if I had planted it…”

“Well, we’re dwarves, we don’t know much about plants,” Ori answered. “Just open it!”

Bilbo hesitated a little. He really didn’t know any dwarves in the Mountain besides the Company and Dáin. Or well. Perhaps he didn’t _know_ Dáin either, but they were at the very least acquaintances. Point was, it was difficult to know if there was anyone who would send him something harmful, or if it was truly just a generally kind gift.

“It _could_ have been left by a footman,” Ori suggested when the hobbit didn’t move to open the package. “Maybe it came from Dale?”

Bilbo picked up the package and eyed it carefully. He squeezed it slightly and frowned.

“Something hard,” he muttered. “Maybe a box of some sort?”

“Open it,” Ori groaned. “Please, Bilbo! You’re more suspicious than Nori, Dori and I can’t even give him a new tunic without him acting like there are poisoned spikes on it.”

Very reluctantly, Bilbo worked the string off the package and opened it. Left in his hand as he pulled away the wrapping was a wooden box, very finely made with intricate carvings that looked like the metal laid into the stone on the throne. Bilbo examined the box curiously, and couldn’t help but smile as he did so. The woodwork was beautiful, for all that it was quite old. It seemed like it had laid forgotten somewhere in the Mountain until someone found it and picked it up.

“Open it,” Ori urged. “There might be something inside!”

There was.

As Bilbo opened the lid, he was met by the sight of a beautifully made hobbit-size dagger in a sheath with a similar decoration to the design on the box’s lid. It became clear once the dagger was unsheathed that it was of dwarven make, judging by the runes engraved on the blade and over the hilt; but they were set in what looked like engravings of leaves and flowers, and the blade itself had a shape that reminded Bilbo of a rowan’s leaf. This touch brought the idea of an elven make to mind, but it was certainly not as light as something an elf would have made.

The poor hobbit gave Ori a confused look and showed him what the box contained. In a mere moment, the young scribe had snatched up the dagger and started to examine it.

“It certainly doesn’t look old,” he said. “And the design… No, this couldn’t have been made before the dragon came.”

“How would you know?” Bilbo asked, frowning slightly. “I thought the smiths back then did quite a lot of rather _different_ work…”

“It’s too elvish,” Ori answered, shaking his head. “They may have completed some pieces for Thranduil and the wood-elves, but they would never have abandoned their own designs unless it was strictly asked for. Besides, it’s not as though the wood-elves don’t have smiths of their own, they could well have paid for ore and made their weapons on their own.”

“What do the runes say?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“Let’s see…” Ori squinted as he read the runes. “Well, that settles it. This is certainly recently made. Look, the runes spell out those ‘titles’ you made up when you spoke to Smaug. See, here’s _luckwearer_ , and here’s _ringwinner_.” The dwarf grinned brightly and pointed out the two titles, etched near the tip of the dagger. “And here,” he continued, pointing at the hilt, “it says _friend of bears_ and _guest of eagles_. Oh, even _barrelrider_ is here! Look, right between these leaves!”

Bilbo felt hopelessly confused. Not only had someone given him a dagger, but they had apparently had it made recently and had put particular care into the make of it. The fact that the “titles” were there confused him even more. He knew that his friends in the Company found them amusing, but surely not even one of them would make a weapon and engrave the titles on it?

“Ah, this might be the maker’s mark,” Ori said suddenly, grinning brightly at his friend. “Look here, on the pommel.”

Bilbo frowned and leant in close. There was a mark, a rather intricate one, that looked like a raven perched on top of a mountain, and on the mountain itself there were two small runes that, if his memory served him right, meant-

“It stands for TO,” Ori supplied helpfully. “Interesting that it’s been placed on the pommel, though, we don’t place them in such visible places normally…”

“TO,” Bilbo repeated quietly. “Oh, for goodness’ sake… TO. Thorin Oakenshield.”

Ori blinked. Then he made a strangled noise and quickly put the dagger back in the wooden box.

“You think Thorin made this for you?” he asked once he caught his breath. “He made you a dagger?”

“I don’t know anyone else with those initials,” Bilbo grumbled. “And look at the mark. It has to be Thorin, don’t you think?”

“The raven, the mountain,” Ori mumbled. “Yes, well… Maybe?”

“What on earth has gotten into his head this time?” Bilbo gave the dagger a sulky glare. “Why would he give me a weapon?”

Ori was squirming when Bilbo looked up at him again. The poor dwarf seemed quite nervous.

“M-maybe you should ask him that,” the young dwarf suggested, giving the hobbit a jittery grin. “There are several reasons to why a dwarf would give someone a weapon, and I don’t want to presume… That is, it’s a _lovely_ piece, probably meant mostly as decoration, in which case it would be- I mean, I can’t know what Thorin intended, of course…”

 

Bilbo spent the rest of that day trying to figure out what on earth could have possessed Thorin to give him a dagger. He tried to get Ori to explain what he’d meant by “several reasons”, but the young dwarf quickly changed the subject and would not elaborate. Instead, Bilbo tried to ask Balin; though the older dwarf only laughed and said that it was best if Thorin got to explain his intentions on his own.

“Though in all fairness,” the white-haired dwarf said, “he really should have given it to you in person instead of leaving it by your door. That is, if his intentions are what I believe them to be.”

Of course, that only raised more questions than it answered. Bilbo swore quietly to himself that evening when he went to speak with Thorin, hoping to get a proper explanation.

If Thorin was at all surprised to have the hobbit visit his chambers, he certainly didn’t show it. Instead he smiled and invited Bilbo inside.

“Is everything well, Bilbo?” he asked. “Balin told me you seemed a bit frazzled.”

“Well, there’s something I’ve been wondering about,” Bilbo answered, giving the dwarf-king a sharp look. “About a package I found outside my door this morning.”

Thorin froze for a moment. Then he seemed to light up, and he gave the hobbit a blinding smile.

“Yes? What did you think of it?” he asked eagerly. “I’d say it’s my best work in quite many years. I’ve not had the chance to work at a forge for some time, or at least not with anything that was not commissioned.”

“It’s… a very beautiful piece, Thorin,” Bilbo said hesitantly. “Sublime, to tell the truth…”

Thorin looked absurdly pleased; Bilbo was somehow reminded of himself as a young boy when his parents tried the results of his first-ever attempt at baking a pie and told him that he’d done well.

“I’m glad that you think so,” Thorin said, looking almost like a proudly puffed up bird. “I wasn’t certain that you’d like it. A dwarven design was out of the question, it wouldn’t have suited you or the intention at all, not in this case. I thought of how your sword looks, and I followed that.”

“I actually have a question about all of this,” Bilbo said quickly, stopping his friend from continuing. “What on earth possessed you to give me a dagger?”

Thorin stared at him. The smile was gone, and he looked almost as if Bilbo had just slapped him.

“I… I simply wished to…” The dwarf quickly shook his head and cleared his throat. “It was a gift, Bilbo. Of course you needn’t accept it if you do not wish to.”

“I never said that I do not accept it,” Bilbo answered, crossing his arms. “I want to know why you decided to give me a _dagger_ , of all things.”

“It’s… It’s a gesture among dwarves,” Thorin said slowly. “A wish to… Well, to protect. To defend.”

“I have a sword,” Bilbo deadpanned. “Which I know you remember.”

“Which you do not carry with you,” Thorin shot back. “A dagger is lighter. Easily concealed. You’d be able to have it with you.” He gave the hobbit a careful smile. “Please. I worry sometimes that you might be unable to defend yourself if attacked. It would be good to know that you carried something with you.”

“To protect and to defend,” Bilbo repeated with a sigh. “Promise me one thing, at least.”

“Anything.”

“No more weapons.” Bilbo smiled back at the dwarf and shook his head. “I understand that it’s a normal thing for dwarves, but it’s really quite distressing for a hobbit.”

Thorin’s shoulders sagged slightly, but he nodded.

“No more weapons,” he promised.

“Oh, and Thorin?”

“Yes?”

“It really is a _lovely_ piece of work. Thank you.”


	3. Keep them clothed

Nearly a month had passed since the last incident when Bilbo found yet another package by his door as he returned to his chambers in the evening. He couldn’t help but groan as he picked it up, expecting it to be yet another item from Thorin, but soon enough he saw that there was a note attached to it. He carefully detached the paper and put the package down on the table.

“Odd,” he muttered as he unfolded the paper and started to read. “Isn’t this Dori’s handwriting?”

_Bilbo,_

_This item was requested a good deal more than a month ago on your behalf. I was given strict instructions to not disturb your work, and to simply deliver this to your door. I hope it will fit you well – at the very least it should, as I still have the measurements you gave me when you requested my help for new shirts._

_Do not worry about payment. That has already been arranged._

_Dori_

Bilbo blinked and reread the note.

“Requested more than a month ago,” he mumbled. “Strict instructions… Don’t worry about payment… What on earth is this now?”

He glanced over at the package with narrowed eyes. The dagger-incident had not precisely made him less suspicious towards packages being delivered to his door, and to hear that someone had requested something from Dori on his behalf, with payment arranged for, did not help matters. Though, since it came from Dori, it could really only be a piece of clothing. The dwarf had not wanted to give up the profession of a tailor that he’d had in Ered Luin, and had established himself as the finest in Erebor. His works were exquisite, not to mention expensive; Bilbo had considered things a bit after he had bought his shirts, and come to the realisation that only two shirts cost a small fortune in Shire-terms.

“But who would request a piece of clothing for me?” Bilbo muttered. “This is ridiculous…”

He left the package sitting on the table for a good long while as he went about his business and made himself a cup of tea. But while he busied himself with heating up water and getting everything ready, he found himself continuously peering at the package and wondering what was inside. Whatever Dori had made was sure to be beautiful, and he always altered the style of whatever he made to suit the person it was for.

Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. He pushed his teacup to the side and pulled the package closer. With great care, he opened it.

Even in the Shire before the journey, Bilbo had been used to having very fine clothes. The Baggins-family was quite wealthy, and he had been left with a very large inheritance when his parents passed. Everything he had owned then came from the finest tailor to be found in the Westfarthing, and he had been very proud of his wardrobe.

What he lifted out of the package was a waistcoat finer than anything he had ever owned. It was made of beautiful blue velvet and had silver buttons, as well as a vine of what looked like lilacs embroidered along the edges with silver thread. On the left side of the chest, a small dragon had been embroidered with golden thread. Bilbo couldn’t help but smile, recognising the way Smaug had been drawn on the map Thorin had gotten from his father.

“Such fine stitching,” he murmured, gently trailing his hand over the cloth. “Though I suppose someone ought to tell Dori, and whoever requested this, that lilacs don’t grow on vines…”

He got up from his seat and tried it on. It fit perfectly, and he couldn’t help but grin like a small child on their birthday. Dori had outdone himself once again. He trailed his fingers over the cloth again, pausing when he touched the embroidery on the chest. While Dori would certainly not have minded adding that detail, so important to their journey, Bilbo doubted that he would have done so unless asked. He stared down at the waistcoat for a moment before letting out a loud groan and burying his face in his hands.

“Valar help me,” he mumbled. “If this was Thorin’s idea…”

 

Bilbo had always had good intuition for whom different gifts came from. As it turned out, he was quite right about the waistcoat as well.

As soon as he had finished his tea, he went straight to Thorin’s chambers to speak with him. And this time, Thorin seemed to be expecting him. The dwarf grinned brightly at him as he opened the door and invited him inside.

“The waistcoat suits you,” he said once the door was closed again. “I admit, I was not certain how it would look, but the colour actually-“

“ _Why_ did you commission a waistcoat for me from Dori?” Bilbo interrupted. “Thorin, this must have cost a fortune!”

“Dori’s works usually do,” Thorin answered, his smile shrinking somewhat. “And you mentioned fairly recently that you missed the type of clothes you wore in the Shire.”

“This waistcoat was commissioned over a month ago!” Bilbo’s eyes narrowed, and he gave Thorin a calculating stare. “Dori provided a note with the package. And I did not say anything about my clothes until Ori asked me last week!”

Bilbo felt sure that if Thorin Oakenshield had been any other dwarf, he would have squirmed uncomfortably where he stood. But as it was, he was the king of Durin’s folk, the King Under the Mountain, and he was not going to do something as lowly as _squirm_. Instead he straightened, clasped his hands behind his back and met Bilbo’s stare without blinking.

“Waistcoats suit you,” he said simply. “And you did lament the loss of the buttons for the one you wore on the journey.” He cleared his throat, and Bilbo raised an eyebrow as he saw a tinge of pink on Thorin’s cheeks. “I thought… I thought you’d like it?”

The hesitance in the dwarf’s voice was something new. The hopeful look on his face also made Bilbo feel somewhat like he had just accidentally kicked a puppy begging for scraps.

“I do,” he sighed. “It’s _lovely_ , Thorin, and I’ve never owned anything like this in my entire life. It’s… It’s fantastic.” A small hopeful smile appeared on Thorin’s face, and Bilbo couldn’t help but reciprocate. “I’m rather curious, actually… Was the design your idea? Or was it Dori’s? Because whoever thought of the lilacs…”

“That was me,” Thorin answered proudly. “I didn’t think you’d want something too extravagant, but you’ve mentioned before that you like them.”

“Yes, well, I suppose you had to look for a reference of some sort… A book, maybe?”

“Yes, there was one in the library.”

“And did it perhaps not show more than a picture of the flower?”

“Well… Not really. Why?”

“Lilacs do not grow on vines, Thorin.”

“I… I knew that.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh at the look on the dwarf’s face.

“Well, I’ll admit that it looks better,” he said once his laughter died down. “And I expect the dragon was your idea as well?”

“I had asked Dori to make that one in silver as well,” Thorin said slowly, looking somewhat uncertain. “Though one small detail in gold doesn’t look too bad…”

“I think I trust his judgement.” Bilbo grinned brightly. “I _was_ going to shout at you, but I’ll admit that this was quite thoughtful of you. Just one thing…”

“Yes?”

“I can pay for my own clothes, Thorin. Also, asking me first would be a nice change of pace.”


	4. Pay attention to their interests

The waistcoat became one of Bilbo’s favourite items of clothing. He felt ridiculously proud of it, and would wear it as often as he could. When Balin first saw it, he commented on that the colours of the line of Durin suited the hobbit quite well. Then the old dwarf seemed to realise what he had just said, and quickly made himself scarce. Bilbo never did get a proper explanation for that.

It was not long after this that a good deal of dwarves began production on something on the upper levels, close to the royal apartments. Bilbo at first heard of it from Fili and Kili, who cheerfully came and interrupted his working day to try to tempt him into coming and investigating with them.

“There _is_ an old door there that leads outside,” Fili explained eagerly. “Or at least uncle says so. They’re repairing the door and the passage outside, and-“

“And they’re going to build something there,” Kili interrupted, grabbing Bilbo’s shoulder. “It’s amazing! They’ve got something very specific in mind!”

“I’m sure it’s quite interesting,” Bilbo sighed, lifting his quill from the paper he had been writing on to avoid crossing something out. “But, as it is, I’m rather busy.”

“Don’t you want to go and see?” Fili asked, simply taking the quill from the hobbit’s hand and placing it back in the small bottle of ink. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Of course I’m curious,” Bilbo answered. “Please, boys, I’m trying to-“

“Uncle won’t even tell _us_ what it’s supposed to be,” Kili said. “But it was his idea, all of it.”

“All of it?” Bilbo repeated, frowning slightly at the phrase. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Well, obviously it’s something big!” Kili spoke slowly, with the tone of someone who was trying to make a child understand something very simple. “And it’s a very good location, apparently.”

“It used to be a garden,” Fili explained, a tad more patiently than his brother. “Though not much of it, of course. According to Thorin, all that ever grew there were berry-bushes, and they never carried fruit.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but sigh as the brothers eagerly continued to try to convince him to come with them. It was interesting that there had been a garden at all. Very interesting. But now they were changing it, and most likely Thorin had the idea to build something out there, turn it into a forge of some sort. It would be typical. Dwarves never did have the same eye for greenery that hobbits did.

“There are people working there,” he finally said to interrupt the boys. “We’d just be in the way. You two go along if you’d like, but I need to work.”

It took a good long while to convince them to leave him be. When they did leave, they threw confused glances over their shoulders, though Bilbo was sure that they thought he wouldn’t notice.

“Whatever it is, I’ll probably find out in good time,” he muttered to himself as he picked up his quill again. “If nothing else, Fili and Kili will snoop enough to find out and tell me.”

 

Winter passed and spring arrived, and Bilbo still had not heard anything about what the building project in the garden would yield. He was curious, he would admit that, but he decided that it would be best if he simply didn’t get in the way.

It became more confusing when Ori told him that large sacks of soil had been brought into the mountain and up to the building project. Bilbo had nearly wanted to laugh. Whatever the dwarves were up to, it had started to sound more and more like a restoration of the garden.

And then, mid-April, Bilbo was stopped in his doorway early in the morning by Thorin. The king was dressed to appear in court, but had apparently chosen to make a detour to come and see Bilbo. He grinned at the hobbit and held out his hand.

“I’ve something to show you,” he said. “Would you walk with me?”

Bilbo hesitated. He wanted to get to the library; Ori had found a book written in Sindarin the day before, and they were both very keen on getting to work on translating it. But it was not often nowadays that Thorin sought his company, much less came to the hobbit’s chambers with the intention of asking him if they might take a walk together. That hadn’t happened since the Battle of Five Armies was over and Thorin had been allowed out of bed to move around, and to be quite honest, Bilbo had missed it.

“Is it another dagger?” he asked with a small smile as he took the dwarf’s hand.

Thorin laughed and shook his head.

“I am not quite so foolish,” he answered. “Come, let’s go.”

He led Bilbo away, heading in the direction of the royal apartments. Though Bilbo felt confused at first, he suddenly realised where they might be heading.

“Is it about what’s been built in the old garden?” he asked. “Fili and Kili said told me about it.”

“I wanted you to be the first to see it,” Thorin explained, giving him a warm smile. “And I hope you’ll like it.”

“Is it a forge?” Bilbo asked, smirking at the look the question gained him. “Because if it is, I must disappoint you.”

“Have you no faith in me?” Thorin asked jokingly. “Why would I bring you to a forge?”

“You did as soon as the restoration work started,” Bilbo shot back. “All while waxing poetics about the glorious things created there.”

They chatted amicably as they walked. Thorin held on to Bilbo’s hand the entire time, every now and then giving it a gentle squeeze as though he tried to reassure either himself or the hobbit that all was well. Bilbo thought to himself that Thorin had rarely looked more regal than now, even though he was merely walking through the passages of his home and talking with a friend.

Soon they stopped by a heavy wooden door. Thorin gave the hobbit a bright grin and gestured to it.

“Go on,” he urged. “Go and have a look.”

Bilbo gave him a suspicious look, but stepped forward and opened the door. It led to a short tunnel, and beyond it he could see what seemed to be green grass and sunshine. He glanced at Thorin again, and the dwarf waved for him to go on.

Moving slowly through the little tunnel, Bilbo took his time to examine the markings on the walls. Instead of the runes and geometric shapes he had grown accustomed to in the Mountain, the etchings on the stone took the shapes of landscapes – there were mountains, distant forests and flowering fields. The markings seemed quite old, though it was clear that they had been tidied up a bit after more than a hundred years of rest.

And finally he stepped outside, sighing deeply at the feel of grass under his feet and the warmth of the sun on his skin. Once his eyes were more accustomed to the sunlight, he looked around curiously, eyebrows rising and mouth dropping open a little more for each and every thing he saw.

He stood on a high ledge, with an amazing view southwards across the plains. He could see the Running River, and in the distance he could see the Long Lake. The walls of the Mountain behind him were covered with a thick green moss and clinging vines of ivy. But more importantly, there were bushes and early spring-flowers and small tree-saplings planted here and there around the ledge, along with several raised garden-beds of stone filled with rich dark soil. In a corner grew a circle of bushes that Bilbo somewhere in his mind identified as rosebushes, and in the circle’s midst stood a stone bench with carved flower vines for legs and back.

He stood there and stared and stared, trying to make sense of what he saw, and was so absorbed in this that he didn’t notice Thorin approaching him.

“Do you like it?” the dwarf-king asked softly.

A part of Bilbo’s mind told him that he looked like a fool, standing there gawking as he did, but he turned slowly to his companion and gave him the same look.

“Thorin, this is _beautiful_ ,” he breathed. “How have you… Oh, goodness me, I don’t know what to say…”

“You like gardening,” Thorin said, almost shyly. “And I remembered that my mother used to have a garden here that she liked to spend time in. Dwarves aren’t gardeners, but there was a Man from Dale who used to come here to care for the plants…”

“When I thought that the project was about a restoration of the garden, I was joking,” Bilbo mumbled. “Oh, I am a fool…”

“Perhaps a little.” Thorin gave him a warm smile, reached out and took his hand again. “It’s no simple restoration, Bilbo. It’s for you.”

Bilbo’s thoughts ground to a halt. He stared up at Thorin, wondering if he had just dreamt that he heard those words.

“For me?” he repeated weakly. “You had this done for me?”

Thorin nodded, still smiling, and led the hobbit across the garden to the bench among the roses. They sat down together, and Bilbo looked around in amazement while Thorin spoke:

“Hobbits were not made to live in a Mountain. You weren’t made for caves and forges. You spoke so much of your garden in the Shire during our journey, of all the flowers your mother and father had planted and of everything that grew there, that I thought you must miss it horribly now when you’ve had nothing but dark stone around you every day. The green hills of the Shire is where you grew up, and though you’ve told me that you have no intention of returning there, I would at least do what I can to make you comfortable here. A garden is the least I could give you.”

Bilbo turned to look at him again. There was not the slightest hint of mockery or deceit in Thorin’s eyes, nor his voice, and he gazed at the hobbit with a sort of gentle kindness that Bilbo could recall seeing in his parents’ eyes whenever they looked at each other.

“You had this done for me?” he repeated quietly. “Thorin, why would you want this?”

“So that you may have your garden,” Thorin answered. “So that you may have your flowers and your trees, and plant whatever you wish. I want you to be comfortable here in Erebor, Bilbo, and I hope that a garden will help at least a little bit.”

The hobbit looked around again. A garden of his own again, being able to plant flowers and grow vegetables and have a quiet place where he could read or write or sit and think, somewhere that wasn’t cooped up in a small room inside the Mountain… A very small part of him feared that it was a joke, that Thorin would retract his offer in a mere moment. A significantly larger part of him was overjoyed.

“You’re giving this to me,” he said, a faint question in his voice. “This is meant as a gift.”

“It is.” Thorin chuckled. “That is, if you wish to accept it.”

Bilbo didn’t have any other answer than to throw his arms around the dwarf and thank him.


	5. Keep them warm

In the months that followed, Bilbo spent as much time as he could in the garden. It took a few trips to Dale to find the seeds he wanted to plant, but soon enough he had green sprouts in every garden-bed and flowers covering the green grass like a multi-coloured rug. His friends grew quite used to finding him kneeling by one of the stone-beds, dirt covering his hands and knees, with a small pile of weeds beside him. After a bit of searching, Bombur had helped Bilbo find a farmer in Dale who had several smaller apple tree-saplings on his land, one of which he was willing to give up to the hobbit.

“Why an apple-tree?” Fili asked when he watched the hobbit, with Bombur’s help, move the sapling into the hole they had dug for it. “Why not cherries? Or pears?”

Bilbo laughed; he did remember the young dwarf’s complaints after the journey in the barrels down the Forest River. Apparently Fili’s barrel had smelled like apples, and since that particular journey, he wasn’t very keen on being near apples again.

“Because I like apples,” the hobbit replied cheerfully. “Most hobbits do, actually. It was my da’s great vice. Mum could barely bring apples into the smial without them being gone within the hour because da found them. The ones she managed to save were used for baking, or for cooking.”

“I could give you a favourite recipe of mine,” Bombur offered as he straightened and stepped back. “It’s a stew. Pork, carrots, apples, green onions. It’s one of the first dishes I ever made.”

“Oh, I’d love that!” Bilbo cried excitedly. “How about it, Fili? What if Bombur and I made that stew for you? Would you eat apples then?”

Fili only let out a long-suffering groan that had both his companions laughing.

 

Bilbo still went into the garden when winter approached, though the plants did not grow now. He had done what he could to protect them all, covering the garden-beds with mulch and cloth, but still missed the peace of the little ledge. It was becoming bitter cold up there on the heights, and the wind snuck into every nook and cranny all over the Mountain.

One day when he stood there, he found himself constantly rubbing his arms and blowing warm air into his hands to try to warm up. He even ran a few laps around the garden in an attempt to keep the heat up.

“I really ought to have a word with Dori about a cloak,” he grumbled to himself. “And I’ll need a scarf as well, at this rate.”

A scarf was not really a problem. Ori had already offered to make one for him, as well as mittens. There had been talk of socks as well, but Bilbo had put his foot down and said that he would sooner learn to walk on his hands forever than wear socks or boots. There was no more talk of socks or boots after that.

Finally satisfied with his time outside, he fled back to the warmth of the Mountain.

 

The first snowfall had already deposited heavy mounds of snow over the land when Bilbo one morning was woken up by knocking on his door. When he had finally located his trousers and put them on, stuffing his nightshirt inside them, he wobbled over to open it, only to blink and stare up at Dori.

“Good morning, Bilbo,” the grey-haired dwarf said politely. “Forgive me for waking you so early, Ori told me that you remained late in the library yesterday…”

“Quite alright,” Bilbo answered, swallowing a yawn. “Come in, come in! What brings you here at this hour?”

They moved inside, and Bilbo closed the door behind the dwarf. Dori simply smiled at him and held up a package.

“Another one,” he said. “I finished it just last night, and I was hoping you might try it on. It’s been paid for, no need to worry about that.”

Bilbo wanted to groan. There was no need to wonder whose idea this had been.

“Thorin doesn’t know how to take a hint,” he muttered. “I _told_ him that I can pay for my own clothes, and that he should ask me…”

“It’s quite a kind gesture, if you ask me,” Dori said with a laugh. “Come now, master Baggins, go on and open it.”

Bilbo reluctantly accepted the package, weighing it briefly in his hands before he opened it. Once he had removed the wrapping, he stared at the item in his hands.

It was a beautiful thick dark blue hooded cloak, with fur lining the edges and covering the inside of it, and with a sturdy silver clasp shaped like oak leaves. On the back, stitched in silver thread, was a design of an oak tree. Bilbo carefully trailed his fingers over the cloth and the fur and the embroidery, trying to distinguish if something there was very obviously Dori’s own design or if Thorin had a part in it.

“Put it on,” Dori urged him. “I want to see if it fits.”

“Anything would fit me better than Dwalin’s old hood and cloak,” Bilbo answered vaguely. “I looked like a child in those…”

Putting on the cloak, he couldn’t help but sigh deeply. It was warm and soft, almost as though he were wrapped in furs in front of a fire. It fit him well, reaching all the way down to his ankles, and he was able to wrap himself up entirely in it.

Dori walked around him, eyeing the cloak critically and tugging at it slightly before giving a decisive nod.

“Very good,” he said. “It suits you well.”

Bilbo gave the dwarf a small smile. He would be warm during his visits to the garden this winter.

And whatever Thorin’s intentions were, the thoughtful gift warmed the hobbit’s heart.

 

Despite the howling of the wind, it was easy for Bilbo to hear the noise of the door to the garden open. It creaked and echoed in the tunnel, and he knew all too well that there weren’t many dwarves who were willing to come out to him on the snowy slopes. He turned his head, smiling as he saw Thorin step out into the snow; the dwarf’s clothing indicated that he had only just returned from a sparring session with Dwalin, though he had put on a cloak for good measure. He moved effortlessly through the snowdrifts and over to the hobbit, standing calmly by his side.

“Balin said you wished to speak with me,” he said, peering curiously at his small companion. “May I ask what you have on your mind?”

Bilbo had at this point had the cloak in his possession for two days. He had hesitated to speak with the dwarf, though for once he at least did not intend to scold him.

“I wished to thank you for the cloak,” he said, giving the dwarf a kind smile. “It’s very comfortable.”

Thorin smiled back and reached out with one hand, pulling the hood up over the hobbit’s head.

“Your ears are all red,” he said quietly. “The hood is there for a reason.”

“And I didn’t need it,” Bilbo answered. “Really, Thorin… I hope you do realise that I am quite capable of buying things on my own.”

“Of course.” Thorin took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and moved a little closer to the hobbit. “I merely wanted to ensure that you would not freeze. The winters here are colder than you are used to, I’d wager.”

“So they are.” Bilbo chuckled softly. “It was kind of you to think of me.”

“I always do.” Though he still smiled, the look in the dwarf-king’s eyes was serious. “How could I not?” For a moment they simply stood there and gazed at each other. Then Thorin quickly looked away, his cheeks practically glowing red, and cleared his throat. “Come we should go inside. It is far too cold out here.”

Bilbo gave his friend a long thoughtful look, but allowed himself to be led inside. He didn’t feel too certain about that the dwarf’s reddened cheeks were due to the cold.


	6. Communicate

During that winter, a new building project was started in the Mountain. Bilbo felt somewhat confused when Dís, Thorin’s sister, sought him out in the library to tell him that the rooms that had once been the Queen’s chambers were now being rebuilt.

“Thorin has been brooding over plans and drawings for weeks now,” she said, pacing back and forth. “I have to admit that it’s a relief to see him make them reality, but I’m afraid that he has gone a little overboard.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow; that Thorin sometimes went overboard with planning was nothing new, though he had to admit that taking the decision to change something in the familiar halls of his childhood home didn’t quite feel like something the dwarf who took the decision to travel across Middle Earth to fight against a dragon.

“Nothing in there was damaged,” Dís continued, sighing deeply. “But he has decided that it needs to be changed. For absolutely no reason!”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Bilbo said, giving her what he hoped was a calming smile. “I don’t think he’d do this without having thought about it.”

“Thorin never thinks before doing something,” Dís shot back, rolling her eyes; but she smiled now, which at least was a good sign. “He improvises everything.”

“That would explain why Balin dreads every important meeting,” Bilbo hummed. “Thorin may have been groomed for this his entire life, but goodness knows that he has little patience for nit-picks…”

“Precisely my point.” Dís took a seat beside him, seeming quite pleased to have found someone who understood what she meant. “And this is why I worry. Why change the Queen’s chambers? It doesn’t make sense if nothing there was damaged.”

“Maybe he wanted to fix it up a little,” Bilbo suggested, remembering the excuse his father had given for extending the wine-cellar in Bag End (and the following argument between his parents about whether or not it was necessary at all).

“Maybe he’s suggesting that he is making plans to marry,” Dís answered, smirking slightly.

Bilbo froze momentarily. He hadn’t considered that, had never so much as wondered if Thorin had someone waiting for him or if he was alone. No one in the Company had made any mention of it either. Maybe Thorin was making plans to marry, and had simply never told any of his friends about whom he held an interest in. But no. A part of Bilbo wondered if it was truly possible, if Thorin would have kept quiet about it for so long. It didn’t seem particularly likely.

Dís seemed to notice his surprise, and she eyed him curiously.

“As a matter of fact,” she said slowly, “I’ve heard that you have received quite many gifts from my dear brother. Is that not so?”

“I have,” Bilbo answered weakly. “One more confusing than the other…”

“I heard he gave you a dagger.” Dís was smirking again. “A very beautiful one, at that. He was never much for decorating the things he made at the forge, you know. Always been good at it, but never liked to take the time for it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Bilbo mumbled, staring down at his feet. “He asked me to carry it with me…”

“Let’s see,” Dís hummed, tapping her chin with one finger. “He got into those ridiculous contests constantly. He has given you a dagger, a waistcoat, a garden and a cloak. And now he suddenly makes the decision to restore and change some things in the Queen’s chambers.” She gave the hobbit a long and thoughtful look. “And as far as I can tell, you have no clue about why.”

Bilbo slowly looked up at her, narrowing his eyes.

“Is there something I _ought_ to know?” he asked sharply. “Something that Thorin has perhaps neglected to tell me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Dís gently placed one hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, a gesture that would probably have been sympathetic if not for the smirk she was sporting. “I believe my brother may have been trying to court you and has taken your acceptance of the gifts as a sign of you knowing precisely what he’s been doing.”

Bilbo had time to blink twice before passing out on the spot.

 

Bilbo spent a lot of time after his conversation with Dís trying to figure out if she might have been right. His head spun every time he thought of it, that Thorin had given him all those gifts with an ulterior motive. He thought back to his conversations with the dwarf-king, wondering if there had been any sign that Thorin might have meant something more. He could come up with at least one thing for every conversation they’d had. Most of all, he remembered what the dwarf had said after he had given Bilbo the cloak and the hobbit had thanked him for thinking of him.

_“I always do. How could I not?”_

Confused as he was, Bilbo spent as much time as he could alone in the library or in the garden. He felt certain that his friends had been able to tell what Thorin was up to; Ori’s reaction to the dagger had been very telling, as had Balin’s when he had said that Thorin shouldn’t have left the package by Bilbo’s door.

“They knew,” Bilbo said to himself. “They knew and they thought that I knew too. And that I’ve been… Oh, goodness, they think that Thorin and I are courting!”

The Baggins-side of his soul was furious – entering into a courtship was not a small thing, and to have it happen without both parts being entirely aware of it was simply unacceptable. But the Took-side was curious – he wouldn’t say that he didn’t harbour an interest in Thorin, and the gifts really had been lovely. The dwarf had simply gone about it all the wrong way.

It was already late in March when Bilbo sought out Balin to speak with him. The old dwarf seemed pleased enough at the idea of company, and didn’t mind the suggestion of a walk either. Bilbo brought him to the garden, hoping to avoid any possible interruptions. For a good long while, they simply chatted amicably and spoke of all the goings-on in the Mountain.

“Say, Balin,” Bilbo said once there came a lull in the conversation. “Do you think you could tell me about how you dwarves court?”

Balin gave the hobbit a curious look and raised an eyebrow. There was no mistaking that “I thought you knew this”-look.

“Well, of course we must speak with the intended’s family,” he said slowly. “To ensure that we have their blessing. And then we must prove that we are capable of caring for them. Protecting them, keeping them clothed and warm, and prove that we are strong enough to fight for them if they are somehow incapacitated.”

“Would that involve giving gifts?” Bilbo asked, feeling that small ball of anxiety in his stomach clench. “Say, such as a dagger that they might carry with them at all times?”

“Laddie, why don’t you simply ask what you need to ask?” Balin gave his friend a gentle smile and patted his shoulder. “You clearly have something eating away at you.”

Bilbo groaned.

“Has Thorin been courting me?” he asked, turning away to stare out across the lands beyond the Mountain. “Has he been courting me, with everyone except me being aware of it?”

“It would seem so,” Balin stated. “Forgive me, Bilbo, but I truly thought that you were aware of it. Dwarves are not the kind to give out gifts at random.”

“This is ridiculous,” Bilbo moaned. “Balin, Thorin hasn’t spoken to me about this. He hasn’t said a word of his intentions!”

“I believe he has taken your acceptance of the gifts as a sign of knowledge as to what is going on,” Balin said gently. “If you wish, laddie, I could have a word with him. He should have spoken with you long ago, well before he gave you the first gift.”

“The first,” Bilbo repeated numbly. “How many gifts are there?”

“I believe that he is working on the very last gift now.”

 

Once Bilbo sat in his chambers later that evening, he felt somehow more anxious than before. Balin had promised that he would have a word with Thorin that very day, and that he would make sure that the dwarf-king would come and speak with him. The poor hobbit had made himself more cups of tea than he normally had in a single day while he waited for the dwarf to come knocking at his door.

“It’s going to be alright,” he told himself firmly. “All that will happen is that you will talk, he will apologise for not telling you, and you will… you will… attempt to make sense of what you think and feel?” He groaned loudly and put his face in his hands. “Oh, you are in a fine mess, Bilbo Baggins…”

He was certain that he’d never been this anxious before in his life. Except perhaps that time when he’d come home from a walking holiday and found a young Boffin-lass in the kitchen of Bag End having tea with his parents and talking about possible marriages. He knew very well that neither his mother nor father would have given any permission for any courtship without asking if Bilbo even had any feelings for the person in question, but that time had been very confusing to say the least. It didn’t help that he wasn’t particularly skilled at understanding people’s intentions. More often than not, he’d nervously had to ask them what they actually wanted from him, which had a tendency to end with him accidentally insulting someone or having to tell them that he did not feel the same.

And now he was in a similar situation yet again, with a dwarf. A dwarf-king, at that. What on earth would he say this time, when he wasn’t certain about whether or not he actually felt the same? His mind was racing, and for every possible good outcome he thought of, he could think of at least three bad ones. Thorin was not a person who did anything by halves; if he was angry, he was furious, if he was happy, he was practically walking on sunshine. Of course, most of the time he would keep himself aloof and unreadable, but those who knew him well would know what signs to look for.

He felt something. He was certain of that. There was _something_ there, but he was not yet certain of how strong it was. He’d need time to figure it out, time that Thorin was hopefully not averse to giving him.

Finally the knock on the door came, and Bilbo’s reveries were interrupted. He stood up on shaky legs and went to open the door, smiling nervously when he invited Thorin inside. There was no doubt that the dwarf had indeed spoken with Balin, and that he was a little uncertain about what to do or say. He hovered awkwardly until Bilbo asked him to sit down, and he would carefully avoid meeting the hobbit’s eyes.

“We need to talk,” Bilbo stated firmly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “And this talk is long overdue by now.” He waited a moment until Thorin gave a small nod. “Well, I suppose Balin spoke with you, about… Well, everything. To be frank, the entire situation is ridiculous.”

“You needn’t talk around the issue,” Thorin interrupted. “I made a mistake. I made an assumption that I should not have.”

“So you did.” Bilbo sighed and shook his head. “Really, Thorin. Didn’t I prove during our journey that I knew very little of dwarves? Why did you think that I would know what you were trying to ask of me?”

“I assumed that someone had told you,” the dwarf answered quietly. “Balin, or perhaps Bofur. Anyone, really. And when you accepted the first gift, I thought I had been correct in my assumption.”

“And what of those head-butting contests?” Bilbo asked. “Why did you think that I would know what exactly those meant?”

“I didn’t.” Thorin gave a weak smile and shrugged. “You didn’t react. You always left, and I thought that I would have to try harder.”

“I told you to stop before you’d hurt someone.”

“Yes, and that alone is a simple acknowledgement, is it not?”

“And what of the dagger? I asked you what made you give me one!”

“And I thought that you were simply worried because it was not a hobbit-practice. And then you made it sound as though you were simply not happy with the fact that it was a dagger.”

Bilbo had to force himself not to groan. Happy though he was that Thorin was explaining himself, it really wasn’t going anywhere.

“Why didn’t you ever _ask_ me?” He tried to make the dwarf meet his eyes again, and failed. Thorin kept steadily staring down at the table. “Why didn’t you simply ask if I had any feelings for you?”

That drew a short bark of laughter from the dwarf, though it certainly did not sound happy.

“You may have noticed that I am not particularly skilled with speaking of such things,” Thorin replied, a small sad smile showing on his face. “I didn’t know how. Every time I tried to ask you anything of the sort, the wrong words always came out, and made everything sound like a joke. I don’t have my sister’s way with words, Bilbo, and certainly not when it’s about something personal.”

“Yes, she mentioned as much.” Bilbo eyed him carefully, watching for any sign that Thorin might have spoken to Dís about his intentions. “She said that she thought you might be courting me. That was when I realised what was going on.”

Thorin bit his lip.

“You didn’t know,” he said, and for once he sounded so small, as though he were a child whose prank had taken a bad turn without him meaning for it to do so. “You didn’t know what I was doing.”

“No,” Bilbo said gently. “I didn’t. And it could have been avoided if you ridiculous dwarves hadn’t made assumptions.”

Thorin quickly got to his feet, his posture stiff and an unreadable expression on his face.

“Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I should go.”

“Absolutely not,” Bilbo snapped. “You will sit down and-“

“I feel I have overstayed my welcome,” Thorin interrupted. “If I am not wanted, I should leave.”

“For goodness’ sake, what _is_ it with you dwarves and jumping to conclusions?” Bilbo cried, getting to his feet and rounding the table to grab on to Thorin’s arm. “You, Thorin Oakenshield, will _sit down_ and let me speak my mind. There have been enough misunderstandings as it is, and I should like to avoid another one.” He fixed the dwarf with a glare when Thorin made no attempt to move. “If I let you leave right now, you are going to go back to your chambers and sulk. Let me explain my own view of all this before you decide that everything is useless.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and finally Thorin relented and slowly sat back down. Bilbo huffed and turned away.

“You are utterly ridiculous,” he stated as he started to clatter about in his small kitchen to make more tea. “You need to consider that you and I think differently. No, I didn’t know what you were doing until Dís told me what she thought. But neither did anyone else in the Company even consider that I might not know about the dwarven way of courting. I had to ask Balin straight out to make him realise that I truly had no idea.” He shot the dwarf a glance over his shoulder and saw how Thorin stared at the table. A small smile found its way to the hobbit’s face, and he sighed again. “But I don’t feel _nothing_ when I look at you, Thorin. There is something there. I could have said no to every single gift you gave me, but I accepted them because they were from you, and they were signs of that you thought of me.”

Thorin slowly looked up. There was a hopeful look on his face now, as though he could not quite believe or dare to hope that he was really hearing this.

“There is something,” the dwarf repeated quietly. “Do you mean that?”

“I don’t know exactly how strong it is,” Bilbo explained, choosing his words carefully. “I will not bring your hopes up only to crush them by saying yes now. I will need time, Thorin. I need to think, to figure this out.” He bit his lip nervously. “I… Look, no matter what answer I give you, I would still want to keep you as a friend. I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“You won’t,” Thorin said immediately. “I swear that you won’t. I will be happy to have an answer, no matter what that answer may be. Whether as a friend or something more, I would not wish to lose you.”

Bilbo sighed with relief. He still felt anxious, wondering if he would even be able to give an answer in the end, but the knowledge that Thorin would let him take the time he needed was soothing, at the very least.

“Good, he said. “Good. Then let’s speak of something more cheerful, shall we? I’ll have the tea done in just a moment.”


	7. Start doing things the hobbit-way

At the beginning of the next year’s summer, Bilbo thought that he had made up his mind. He had spent a good deal of time alone, either in his chambers or in the garden, trying to figure out what he felt.

Not having felt more than passing fancies before, he wasn’t certain about how he would know. Both his mother and father had always told him that once it happened, he would know.

“Love can sometimes be mistaken for something else,” Bungo had told him once. “But give it a little time, think about it and wait and see. You’ll know what it is soon enough.”

He didn’t mind the gifts Thorin had given to him. In fact, he was very fond of them, even of the dagger. He liked to spend time with the dwarf, and missed him terribly when they couldn’t do so. Simply taking a walk together was a joy, and Bilbo had found that he would notice something new about the dwarf for every conversation they had. They were slowly opening up a little more to each other, more than they had during their journey, and though Thorin was uncertain and a bit awkward when it came to actually keeping up friendly small talk, he certainly did not seem to mind letting the hobbit figure him out.

It had been around early May that year when Bilbo even realised that there was a physical side to it as well. He had been trying to find Thorin for the better part of the day, only to be told that the king was sparring with Dwalin again – and naturally he had gone to find them. He hadn’t been entirely prepared to see the two shirtless dwarves locked in a rather vicious wrestling match. And once they actually broke apart and decided to take a break, Bilbo found himself staring at Thorin, getting increasingly red-faced, while the dwarf came towards him. And once he had retreated to his chambers later on, he had realised that the blush had certainly not been because he thought that the shirtlessness was indecent.

 

June came, and Bilbo worked up the nerve to go and speak with Dís. He wanted to give Thorin an answer as soon as possible, but he also wanted to go about things the correct way. If there was anything that was shared in the courting traditions of either race, it was that they required the permission of the intended’s family to begin with. At least he didn’t need to look for long to find her.

Dís spent a lot of time in the workshops near the forges. A jeweller by trade, she could spend whole uninterrupted days there to work on different intricate pieces. If someone came to speak with her, she never even needed to stop working as she answered them.

Bilbo had never been fond of going near the forges; it wasn’t so much the sweltering heat as it was the combination of dwarves ceaselessly moving about and never watching where they went. It was quite a challenge to manoeuvre along the path towards the workshops, if only to avoid the different workers.

Dís did not even look up when Bilbo carefully entered her workshop. She continued working, and simply said:

“If you’re here to ‘ask for a favour’, Thorin, then get out. Fili, Kili, if it’s either of you, do not tell me what you did this time, just go and _fix it right now_ before I have the chance to find out and hunt both of you down.”

“None of them,” Bilbo supplied helpfully, smiling faintly as he approached her. “Just a hobbit.”

Dís looked up at that, grinning brightly at him as she waved for him to come closer.

“What in the world might bring Erebor’s resident hobbit into my humble workshop?” she asked brightly. “Certainly not curiosity about my work, or you’d have come sooner.”

“There’s something I need to ask you,” Bilbo explained. “Ah… It’s about Thorin.”

“Oh, is that so? Has he finally spoken with you?” She got to her feet and stretched, seeming stiff after having hunched over her work for a good while. “I apologise on his behalf if he has said anything insulting. He really isn’t the best with words…”

“He spoke to me some months ago,” Bilbo admitted nervously. “We, ah… We sorted things out.”

“Did you now?” Dís hummed. “And what was the outcome?”

Bilbo took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. He’d had a carefully rehearsed speech in his head before, one that was polite and yet stated his intentions without giving room for arguments. But now that he was actually meant to say something, he couldn’t help but being nervous.

“The thing is… Well…” He cleared his throat a few times, trying to stall for time and find the right words. “See, when Thorin was trying to, ah, court me… He may have forgotten something, and I was thinking… That is…”

Dís raised an eyebrow. Bilbo knew that look already. She was waiting for him to get to the point, and would not be very tolerant of rambling for much longer.

“I wish to ask for your permission to initiate a courtship with your brother, lady Dís,” he blurted out.

There it was, out in the open. Relieved as he felt, Bilbo couldn’t help but notice the surprised look on the dwarrowdam’s face; it was more than clear that she hadn’t expected such a request from him.

“Courtship,” she repeated. “You wish to _court_ him?”

“I do,” Bilbo answered nervously. “That is, if I might gain your approval.”

Dís stared at him, taking a deep breath and exhaling forcefully. The look on her face changed to more exasperated than surprised.

“You are asking to be saddled with an insecure idiot,” she said. “Bilbo, are you certain about this? If you feel obligated to-“

“No, I don’t!” Bilbo cried. “I don’t feel obligated to do anything, why would you even think-“

“Because Thorin has never asked anything of you until now,” Dís interrupted him. She crossed her arms and gave him a sharp look. “When you made the decision to stay, he didn’t ask anything of you. He gave you somewhere to stay, and he gave and he gave and he gave, until now when he asked you to be his.” She sighed deeply and shook her head. “Bilbo, I do not believe that my brother would willingly attempt to trick you. Nor do I believe that he would be _able_ to do so. I am not trying to dissuade you, I am merely trying to consider every possible option. Despicable though it may be to trick another dwarf into marrying you, it is not new to us. Do you understand?”

Bilbo nodded weakly. It made sense, though he wondered if there was anything to her worries. Thorin had really not asked anything of him, had never said that the hobbit needed to do anything in return.

“Bilbo?” Dís sounded worried, nervous even, and she reached out to touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncertain about your decision. I swear, that wasn’t my intention.”

“No, it’s… It’s alright.” Bilbo smiled at her. “You only wanted me to be careful. It’s understandable.” His smile turned into a bright grin. “But I think that you actually managed to voice a few thoughts I’ve had about all this.”

The dwarrowdam blinked in surprise; all signs of worry were gone and were replaced with curiosity.

“You’ve thought about this?” she asked. “You’ve actually considered if… Bilbo, why did you-“

“I don’t think he would do that,” Bilbo said firmly. “He’s just never thought to ask, I think. I started helping Ori with the library, so he just didn’t need to actually ask me to do something. I’ve thought about this, I really have. And I think that… Well, I want this.”

“You want this,” Dís repeated slowly. “You want a life with Thorin.”

“I do.” The hobbit smiled at her and shrugged. “I want a life with him.”

“Why?” Dís crossed her arms again, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why do you want a life with him? Do you have any idea what you actually feel for him?”

“I do. I know what I feel, and that’s why I am asking for your permission.”

They stared at each other in silence for a while, and for a moment Bilbo thought that she’d throw him out. Then Dís let out a laugh, smiling brightly at him, and nodded.

“Well, alright,” she said. “You have my permission. But promise me one thing…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t make it too easy for him. He didn’t tell you from the start, so neither should you.”

 

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo looked up from the flowerbed he was weeding and grinned brightly at the very confused dwarf that approached him.

“Might I help you with something, Thorin?” he asked cheerfully. “Or are you simply seeking company?”

“As a matter of fact, there is something you might help me with.” Thorin stopped by Bilbo’s side and held out a small bouquet of flowers to him. “You might explain to me why my nephews delivered this to me while giggling like a pair of fools.”

Bilbo stood up, practically bouncing in excitement. He had spent a good deal of time considering what flowers he wanted to put in that bouquet, and had chosen the very best ones he could find. He had even tried to remember what flowers his father had said that he had gifted to his mother, and had chosen two that he could recall. He had of course not expected Thorin to understand a hobbit custom, nor to recognise the flowers at all; dwarves and greenery did not precisely go hand in hand. But explaining it was part of the joy.

“Do you like them?” he asked eagerly. “It was a little tricky to figure out something that would describe it all properly, but I really hope you like them!”

“I do,” Thorin sighed, giving the hobbit a weary smile. “They’re beautiful, as is everything else that grows in your garden. But if there is a particular meaning to them, I’m afraid I do not know it.”

“I’ll explain it to you,” Bilbo chuckled. “Come, let’s go and sit down, shall we?”

He led the dwarf-king to the garden bench and made him sit down, quickly taking a seat beside him. Then he reached out, very gently touching the flowers.

“Hobbits have a special language with flowers,” he explained. “You can say a lot with them, and express a wide array of emotions.” He smiled and tilted his head. “See this yellow rose, for instance? Yellow roses stand for affection, or joy. A lilac primrose means confidence. Then we have a deep pink rose, which means gratitude.” With a deep breath he glanced up at Thorin’s face. The dwarf’s eyes were fixed on him. “This is an almond flower. They stand for hope. An orange rose tends to stand for passion or enthusiasm.”

He paused, biting his lip. Thorin smiled slightly and tilted his head.

“And these stand for what you feel?” he asked. “Affection, or joy, as well as confidence, gratitude, hope and passion or enthusiasm?”

“They express what I feel,” Bibo confirmed, smiling back at the dwarf. “Affection as well as joy, confidence that whatever comes can be worked on, hope that nothing goes wrong, passion and enthusiasm for all of this.”

Thorin eyed him carefully for a moment before reaching out and gently touching the last flower.

“And this one?” he asked. “What does this one mean?”

“A red tulip,” Bilbo said slowly, “is a declaration of love.”

The dwarf’s smile grew wider, and he moved his hand to clasp Bilbo’s.

“A declaration of love,” he repeated. “Then you return my affections?”

“Well, I could have done something ridiculous, such as giving you a handkerchief.” Bilbo raised an eyebrow and smiled. “But I thought that since you decided to use dwarven manners to court me, I should show you how hobbits do things.”

“This is all hobbits do, then?” Thorin frowned slightly and tilted his head. “Give each other flowers?”

“Oh no. The process is quite long. It starts with gaining permission from the intended’s closest family – in this case your sister – and goes on with gifts of flowers symbolising your feelings for the intended, as well as walks, dinners… Actually, cooking for your intended is very important to hobbits.” At the doubtful look on Thorin’s face, Bilbo burst out laughing and shook his head. “No, I don’t expect you to cook for me, Thorin. But I want to cook something for you. And speaking of cooking, I’ll need to know what you consider to be your favourite dish. And don’t tell me it’s nothing I could make; if it’s something I don’t recognise, I’ll ask Bombur.”

“You’re saying you’d cheat?” Thorin grinned at him. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s only cheating if I ask your family to help me,” Bilbo cheerfully replied. “And Bombur is not even distantly related to you, and thus I am not cheating at all.”

“Might I expect more flowers from you?”

“Oh, yes, many more. I’m going to hide them here and there and wait for you to find them.”

“Only if you do not mind that I interrupt your day to ask you what they mean.”


	8. Give them a home

The news of the courtship between the king of Erebor and the Mountain’s resident hobbit was met with great enthusiasm; whatever worry Bilbo may have harboured before about how the news would be received was completely blown away. As it turned out, Thorin really hadn’t been particularly subtle about what he was planning, and for a good long while people had believed that he had been rejected.

“He really isn’t subtle,” Balin explained to the hobbit, rolling his eyes. “As soon as he began to prance about and getting into head-butting contests, the suspicion was there. And then, of course, he began sulking all of a sudden.”

“Which made people think that I had rejected him?” Bilbo snorted. “Thorin sulks a _lot_. He’s sulking right now because I won’t go about things the way you dwarves do.”

He really wasn’t joking. Thorin was perhaps not unhappy – that state of mind hardly seemed to exist anymore – but he sulked like a dog that expected a treat and didn’t get one when Bilbo explained very carefully that no, hobbits didn’t give such extravagant gifts.

“Hobbits don’t expect much,” Bilbo had explained to him. “A lad might give a lass ribbons for her hair, or perhaps a pretty necklace of some sort. Or a handkerchief. But we certainly don’t give such extravagant gifts as you’ve given me.”

While Thorin seemed to accept that explanation, he still sulked. The longer it went on, the more frustrated Bilbo started to get.

 

“It’s ridiculous! I don’t understand why he’s sulking at all!”

Bilbo was pacing back and forth in front of the hearth in Dís’s chambers. The dwarrowdam sat in her chair by the fire with her hands in her lap, watching him with an amused smile on her face.

“Well, dwarves like to give extravagant gifts,” she chuckled. “Especially dwarves of his position. He feels that he needs to do right by you, and that includes giving you everything he believes that you deserve.”

“It’s a little overwhelming.” Bilbo sighed deeply and sank down in the chair next to Dís’s. “I don’t know what to tell him.”

“There is only one gift left,” Dís hummed, tapping her chin with one finger. “I think that he’d at least like to give you the last one, which would enable him to say that he did as dwarves are supposed to do.”

At the thought of having yet another extravagant gift waiting for him by his door, Bilbo groaned loudly.

“As much as I love him, I may strangle him if it’s something from Dori again,” he grumbled. “But alright. One more.” He gave the smiling dwarrowdam a thoughtful look. “You wouldn’t happen to have a hint about what it might be?”

“Only a hint?” Dís laughed and shrugged. “I might have something. He has been planning to give you something that you have missed since you left the Shire.”

“Something I’ve missed…” Bilbo blinked and gave her a deadpan stare. “Please don’t tell me he’s giving me a handkerchief.”

“I am not at liberty to divulge that information.”

“Now, that’s simply unfair…”

 

“This is ridiculous, Thorin. May I look now?”

“No, not yet. Keep your eyes closed. No peeking!”

“You are behaving like a child…”

“It’s a surprise. I don’t want it spoiled.”

Bilbo sighed deeply, but kept his eyes closed as Thorin led him through the passages of Erebor. He had tried to listen carefully to the sounds around him to figure out where they were heading, but it didn’t seem to help – he had no idea where he was.

The past few days had been spent trying to figure out just what the last gift could possibly be. Dís’s hint hadn’t been much help, and it seemed that the rest of the Company would not be more forthcoming. Bofur had told him that it was probably a pipe, and then immediately grinned brightly and said that he was joking. Fili and Kili had simply laughed and said that they wanted to tell him, but that their uncle would probably strangle them if they did. Balin, Dori and Ori had very carefully changed the subject. It had all been incredibly frustrating. And having Thorin suddenly show up in the library and telling him that he needed to show Bilbo something was not really helping.

“Is this about the gift?” the hobbit asked; he was well aware that he sounded like a rather annoyed child, though it seemed quite fitting for the moment. “I was working, Thorin.”

“I am aware.” Thorin sounded quite amused. “I thought you might need a break, and it just so happened that Ori agreed with me.”

“I wanted to finish translating that scroll today,” Bilbo groaned. “Couldn’t you have waited until later?”

“Could have,” Thorin answered. “Probably should have. Ultimately did not. Come now, we’re nearly there.”

With yet a little more grumbling, Bilbo allowed himself to be led along a little further. As ridiculous as it felt, he couldn’t quite deny that he had needed a break. And Thorin did seem quite excited; it was quite endearing, really.

The sound of a door opening alerted the hobbit to that they had probably reached the journey’s end. Thorin led him through it, only briefly letting go of his hand to close it behind them. When he stepped closer again, he very carefully placed his large hands over Bilbo’s eyes.

“Alright, take some steps forward,” the dwarf said quietly.

“I said I wouldn’t peek,” Bilbo grumbled. “You don’t need to cover my eyes.”

“Merely adding to the suspense, beloved,” Thorin chuckled. “Come now, just a few steps.”

The hobbit sighed deeply but complied and moved forward, Thorin following close behind.

“Here will do,” the dwarf told him, and he stopped. “You can look now.”

And as Thorin moved his hands, Bilbo opened his eyes and blinked in surprise.

He was standing in a large room, a room with, surprisingly enough, circular windows and doorways, that had walls of wood instead of stone and a wonderfully simple tile-pattern on the floor. There were carpets, there was a myriad of pegs for hats and coats, there were framed pictures on the walls, and in front of the large stone hearth stood a sturdy armchair. Moving slowly through the room, Bilbo turned in a circle over and over as he tried to take in all the little details. There were iron candleholders on the walls and one beautifully made chandelier, much like the one he’d had back in Bag End, hanging from the ceiling. There were shelves with books, and even a pillowed and blanketed little nook by one of the windows where one could sit and read.

He moved slowly over to one of the doors and opened it, marvelling briefly at the craftsmanship so much like what he was used to in the Shire, and looked into the next room. It took him a few moments to realise that he was looking at a kitchen. There was a small hearth, a stove, a sink for eventual dishes, several cupboards that he suspected were filled with plates and cups and everything else he could possibly need. There were even small boxes standing in a little niche in the wall that were marked with what he recognised as Dori’s flowing handwriting; it seemed that he had received quite a generous donation of tea.

Striding quickly through the room, he pulled the second door open, and suddenly found himself staring at a small study. There were more bookshelves, more piles upon piles of books, and a desk of what he realised was oak wood with brass details on the drawers and their handles. And upon the desk, along with a bottle of ink and what looked like a raven feather quill, sat a large book, bound in red leather and with a small silver star embossed on the front.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said weakly. “What on earth?”

“Part of our courting traditions is to provide our intended with a home.” Thorin crossed the room to stand beside him, very gently placing one hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “I wanted you to feel like home here in Erebor, Bilbo. I know you’ve missed your home in the Shire; a blind dwarf could see as much. I wanted you to have a place where you could feel at home, as you ever did in Bag End.”

“A kitchen,” Bilbo said slowly. “A study. A place where I can read and relax by the fire.”

"All that you've said you miss," Thorin answered.

"And the book?"

"You did mention that you might write about the journey here. I thought that perhaps you'd like to get started. Ori provided the book itself, and the quill is a gift from the ravens. A small 'thank you' for having brought them food every now and then."

Thorin gave him an encouraging smile. Bilbo curiously looked around, frowning slightly as he eyed the last door.

“What’s in there?” he asked. “A bedroom?”

For a moment Thorin shifted nervously; his eyes darted to the door and then back to Bilbo, and his smile shrunk somewhat.

“I admit that I cannot quite tell what you will say,” he said slowly. “It… Well, it depends on what hobbit views are on this sort of thing.”

“On _what_ sort of thing?” Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “On bedrooms in general? Because I can assure you that we do like to sleep.”

“On sharing a bed,” Thorin answered. “Before being wed. I know that most Men frown on such behaviour, and think it improper.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile. He took Thorin’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and shrugged.

“Hobbits do not focus much on that,” he explained. “Of course, we tend to be discreet about it, and we do not let everyone know. But I doubt that there’s a single hobbit that hasn’t fooled around at least once in their tweens.” His smile grew into a sly grin, and he inched a little closer to the dwarf. “But do you mean to tell me that the door over there connects to your chambers? More specifically, to your bedroom?”

“It does.” Thorin raised an eyebrow. “And is that… acceptable to you?”

“I would’ve thought that my answer made that quite clear.” The hobbit reached out and tugged lightly at one of Thorin’s braids. “Ridiculous dwarf. Now, would you please show me our bedroom?”


End file.
